


Between The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea

by Rowan666



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Beacon Hills, Blood and Violence, Blue Eyes, Canon-Typical Violence, Co-Written, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eye Sex, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Gay Character, High School, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Installment 1 (Hopefully a sequel), M/M, More tags to come ;), No Stydia, POV Multiple, Sexual Tension, This is abandoned, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Underage Smoking, abandoned, alternate season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowan666/pseuds/Rowan666
Summary: Scott is finally ready for a peaceful year in Beacon Hills. With the Dread Doctors gone and Theo nothing more than a lingering presence, he hopes that the supernatural will be kind enough to leave them at peace for a short twelve months. However, with the revelation of a new pack's arrival, everything he wished for might be crushed. As if to make it worse, Scott has to deal with an old betrayal, and Stiles really isn't helping.





	1. Hot in Horns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written and edited by Rowan666

It wasn't the first time.

  
It wasn't the first time that the brunette boy had his claws dangerously close to the girl's throat. It wasn't the first time he'd sunk his claws deep into her side. And it especially wasn't the first time he failed to realise it was a bad dream.

 

His claw's grazed her neck. Her breaths were short, sharp and he was surprised at the control she was keeping over her fluttering heart. Each cry and whimper that threatened to slip were swallowed and each time, her neck drew closer to the sharp tips of his nails. The girl didn't exhale for a few moments before releasing a loud gasp which echoed from the walls of the isolate superstore. The wind was light and subtle but he couldn't be sure whether her shivers were from fear or the cold. The blue-eyed boy knew one thing, though. She smelled _disgusting_. Fear, doubt and a tiny bit of bravery - or stupidity - were the only things he was able to detect coming from the young girl. _Pathetic_.

  
His hand wrapped around her throat and she gasped out a name, his claws pushing gently onto her pale, delicate skin and being careful not to break it. Not yet. "Scott." She whimpered (he relished in the fearful crack in her voice) when a teenager finally revealed himself from the shadows. Tightening his grip ever so slightly, he growled and stepped back a few paces, pulling the girl back with him and only stopping when he stood at the very edge of the escalator. His eyes glowed red, matching the blood that painted his hands.

  
He growled and the challenger - Scott - flashed his own set of amber eyes. Scott stepped forward and he yanked the girl harshly, delaying his approach as he put a hand out in front of him as if to prove he was no danger. "Allison, you're going to be okay." He heard Scott whisper to her and he felt her nod in response. His hand wrapped tightly around her neck now and she fought for air. A dominant roar rose from the beta's chest and he smirked. He didn't flinch as many would but loosened his hold as to let her breathe. The claw's still hovered over her neck. He could feel every breath she took, everytime she swallowed more cries. It was exhilarating, to have that sort of control over a human life, to know that with an ounce of pressure you could end it.

 

"Don't do this!" Scott yelled. He was obviously mad, and, well, who wouldn't be? He was currently holding his precious girlfriend's life in the palm of his hand - literally. And he was ready to crush it. "Miles, this isn't you." He caught Scott's tone soften and he gulped down a scoff. The alpha bit his tongue at the sound of his name coming from the beta's mouth. He shook his head but didn't speak. He wasn't going to give him any satisfaction. Scott wanted to play around and try to get out of this with her alive? He'd like to see him try. Scott didn't want any casualties. He didn't want anyone to get hurt. Well, fuck his righteous ass.

  
"Shut the fuck up, McCall." As much as he'd love to give him the silent treatment, he was never really the type of person to resort to passive-aggressiveness to solve his problems. Scott opened his mouth but his words fell on deaf ears as a roar erupted. Miles' head shot behind him and a grin spread across his face. "I'm really sorry, Scotty. We're going to have to cut our meeting a little–" He dropped his claws from Allison's throat and she breathed a sigh of relief at the disappearing pressure. "–short." He finished, his grin becoming a twisted smirk.

 

“No!” Scott yelled as Miles’ claws slashed deep into her side. Allison only gasped and crumpled to the ground. Miles stepped back as Scott rushed forward. “Catch you later.” He said in his unique British drawl as he took a step backwards, the almost instantly disappeared from the escalator steps.

  
If Scott didn’t get his message by now, he wasn’t sure if he ever would. No one fucks with Miles Griffin.

 

 

It wasn't the first time Miles woke up in a pool of his own sweat either. Slowly, he peeled himself out of the double bed and rolled his shoulders back with a groan. The clock read 5.32am. The nightmares, the anxiety and the pain - from a still healing bullet wound in his right arm - would make it almost impossible for him to get another few hours sleep, so instead, the teenager quietly slithered into the ensuite, that wasn't as fancy as it sounded.

 

Miles turned on the shower and hissed softly when the water came out freezing cold. He decided to give it a while to heat up, turning to the mirror. His hair was all over the place since he'd just woken up. He couldn't remember what time he'd fallen asleep but it mustn't have been too long ago. The bags under his eyes dulled their usually bright blue slightly and he ran his finger under them as if they'd just disappear. Sadly, werewolves still needed sleep. He assumed the water had warmed up since the mirror had become gradually foggier and he stepped out of his boxers and into the shower.  
He grit his teeth when the warm water hit the wound on his arm. It would've healed quicker if it hadn't have had damned wolfsbane in it. While burning it out was a bitch, Miles took it as being preferable to dying. Anyone in their right mind would've bandaged it, but he really just couldn't be bothered. So he dealt with the occasional pain it caused. It'd closed over since yesterday, so it should be gone soon anyway.

  
He let the water envelop him for a good while and he savoured the warmth as if the water were hugging him. God knows Miles needed some physical contact. With school just around the corner - tomorrow, actually - he assumed a few hookups would be customary to gain himself a reputation after his sudden disappearance during freshman year. His thoughts were interrupted sharply and abruptly by his phone ringing loudly. Miles moaned in annoyance before turning off the shower and grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist, waddling back into his bedroom and leaving a tiny water trail as he went.

 

The screen lit up with 'Incoming Call' with the ID ' **Dumbass** ' under it. He scoffed loudly. Why the hell was he calling him at 12:37 am. Reluctantly, he answered and was instantly bombarded with the familiar voice.

  
Stiles was basically shouting down the phone. "They found a body. Scott didn't give any details but the pack's meeting at Deaton's and you're coming. Scott can fuck himself if he has a problem with it." The phone was balanced on his knees on loudspeaker as he drove - probably dangerously past the speed limit - down a certain road.

  
Miles' forehead creased and he couldn't help laughing loudly at the last comment. He stopped himself when he remembered the time. "I can't, Stiles. Scott hates me and honestly, I prefer my dick attached to my body." He snorted and he swore he could hear Stiles roll his eyes. "No, I'm coming to get you." Stiles shot back in his most intimidating tone, but Miles could probably still have compared it to a squeaking mouse. "No, you're not." Miles sandwiched the phone between his ear and shoulder as he rummaged through his wardrobe for a clean pair of boxers, which he slipped on after dropping the towel.

  
A car horn outside almost made him drop it. "Too late." Stiles muttered on the other end before hanging up and Miles groaned throwing his phone to the bed and reaching for some clean clothes - some jeans, a dark grey shirt and a burgundy and black flannel. He changed into them before pocketing his phone and walking towards his window.

  
He opened it, slid onto the windowsill and pushed himself out. A two-story drop wouldn't kill him. Miles landed almost perfectly and was soon booking it down his driveway to a pale blue jeep stopped at the bottom of his drive. Quickly, he flung open the door and scooted in, hearing Stiles mumble to himself. "I told you you'd come." Miles chuckled and Stiles began to drive once he'd shut the door.

 

 

The drive to Deaton's was over quicker than he'd expected. The two hadn't hung out in a while and they quickly fell into a casual conversation. Stiles asked how his mom was, Miles said she was still drinking. Miles asked how his dad was, Stiles said he was still eating curly fries. Miles called Stiles a hypocrite.

 

Stiles was careful not to stall the jeep as he parked outside of the veterinary clinic. He got out first and Miles followed suit, slamming the door loudly to ensure it shut properly. As soon as they approached the door, Stiles made Miles wait outside. Obviously, Miles expressed his discomfort with a grunt and Stiles just sighed and gave him a fake smile before slipping inside.

  
Miles didn't hear much of a conversation. He didn't try to listen in since Scott would know and his homicidal tendencies toward him might've spiked, but he could sense the anger coming from the true alpha. A few minutes later, Stiles reappeared sheepishly and dragged Miles inside, shoving him toward the back room where the animals would be treated. However, instead of a sick puppy, he was greeted with a corpse and half a dozen irritated faces.

  
He knew them all - Scott, Malia, Lydia, Liam, Isaac - except for the girl who seemed to be attached to Liam at the hip. Stiles interrupted the deathly silence. "Uh, that's Hayden." He seemed to have noticed his confusion, but Miles just nodded. The anger from Scott was barely contained and his beta didn't seem to be able to contain his either. He wondered what Scott had said about him. Nothing good, he bet.

 

Miles widened his eyes for a second when he raised his eyebrows and poured. "So, what're you looking at? Werewolf?" The young boy's deductions were interrupted by a pretty dark haired girl bursting through the door directly behind him and almost barrelling into him. She yelped loudly in surprise. "I'm so sorry, I got here as quick as I could." She was rather obviously suppressing the urge to gag at the body - and the smell, which now hit Miles too - but he didn't blame her. He just nodded in acknowledgement and shuffled slightly to the side.

  
She joined Scott and she whispered something to him. Again, he didn't eavesdrop. Miles hadn't noticed but he'd retreated to Stiles' side, who then informed him on the new addition. "Michaela." He muttered, sending her a friendly smile.

 

Ignoring the presence of a dead body, they looked like any ordinary group of teenagers, as different as they all were. Jocks, geeks and the _wrong crowd_ , all mixed together.

 

Deaton had already begun an explanation for Miles' question. "Unsure." He hovered a hand near the slash marks, which made it pretty obvious he nor Scott could've done something like that. "They don't match to what would've been wounds from a werewolf. This is an animal. You see," he shuffled to the lower half and pulled the sheet back to show the shins. There were bite marks - lots - and scratches.

  
"Wolf." Scott mumbled. So far, nothing screamed supernatural except the absence of wolves in Beacon Hills. Scott opened his mouth but Stiles interrupted loudly. "Derek!" He lowered his voice when everyone looked at him like he was out of it. "Derek could transform into a wolf." He muttered.  
Deaton nodded. "And as extremely rare as that is, Stiles, it's still a possibility." This time, Scott spoke. "So, why are we here?" Deaton glanced at a few of the pack before his eyes landed back on Scott. "Try and find it."

 

 

"Try and find it?" Miles pushed the door to the clinic open as Stiles scampered after him. He scoffed loudly and put both hands over his face, dragging them away before turning to Stiles. "You can all go and get yourselves killed. I'm not being mauled to death by a rabid animal." He turned away again, walking slowly but he obviously was too stubborn to stay. "Miles, don-" Stiles stopped when Miles just waved at him without looking back. He rejoined Scott inside and the pack begin to map out where they were going to go.

 

 

Deaton had been given the location of the body so that's where he pointed them. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the vet, so Stiles could see why he wanted it gone. Every twig that cracked scared Stiles and he made a tiny squeal with each unfamiliar noise, glued to Malia's side as Scott, Michaela and his beta went ahead. Stiles stopped, reaching to tug on Malia's sleeve but finding nothing. "Guys." He whispered, taking a step toward the tree in front of him, his fingers extending to touch it and coming back with a red layer on them. He suppressed a gag and wiped it on his jeans, turning to face the pack.

  
The pack. They weren't there. Stiles' breath caught in his throat and he knew he didn't like whatever game they were playing. "No, no, seriously. There's blood." As hard as the boy tried to keep his voice steady, it was quickly becoming a virtually impossible task. He whined quietly again, "Guys." Stiles glanced around but unlike his friends, he didn't have any heightened senses. He couldn't hear them, smell them or whatever. Taking a large breath, he yelled for them, but not extremely loudly. He wasn't dying. "Scott! Lydia!"

  
The tension in the air lifted when Stiles heard them coming back. He mentally thanked whatever God there was and stepped forward, gesturing madly to the tree. "You left me alone with the damn blood tree! You should be glad I'm not kicking your little werewolf ass." He complained, mainly aiming it at Scott. He squished his eyebrows together and folded his arms. Stiles had stopped moving forward. His feet refused to pick themselves up and all of a sudden the tension was back and he couldn't breathe. Oh God, he couldn't breathe.

 

Scott wasn't there. Lydia, Malia, Michaela, Liam, Hayden. They weren't there. His breath hitched and Stiles stumbled back. Unless Scott had gained the ability to become a pure white wolf, his friends weren't here.

  
The wolf stepped forward, not lunging quite yet as Stiles crawled backwards until his back was firm against the tree. He was whispering quietly, a combination of 'no' and 'go away'. Its eyes glowed a brilliant blue which confirmed Stiles' theory. He held his hands out defensively in front of him. "No, no." He basically whimpered and if anyone else were around he might've been embarrassed. He yelped at the sound of the wolf snarling and then, a bark. Stiles' arms covered his face and neck. He was going to be the next one on the table at Deaton's. There was so much he hadn't said yet. Stiles drew a quick breath as he waited for the inevitable feeling of teeth in his flesh.

  
It didn't come.

  
The boy barely managed to look up to see two wolves circling each other - the white one and a black one - and snarling. He gasped and remained pressed against the tree. The black wolf was significantly bigger and it was scaring Stiles more than the other wolf. He pulled his jacket close to him as the larger of the two let out an ear-splitting roar.

  
The white wolf whined softly but returned a bark, one the black wolf matched and the lighter one stepped back slightly. Stiles' eyes were trained on the exchange now, no matter how quickly it was over after a snap and the white wolf retreating into the forest. "Oh my," Stiles almost choked when he realised he now had a larger, scarier wolf to deal with. "God." But it didn't approach. It turned to face him and bowed its head slightly, a gesture Stiles took as a show of friendliness. He didn't move still and the wolf glanced at him before Stiles undoubtedly heard bones cracking. The noise went through him. Each crunch, click and pop that the person's body made as it rearranged itself was deafening. Scrunching his eyes together, Stiles took a deep breath and prepare to meet the hulk that was sure to come from that wolf.

 

No. Stiles almost laughed out loud. Him? Stiles couldn't keep his voice steady, as much as he wanted to. "You? You're the... Why did you fully wolf out? You scared me, man." He added a nervous chuckle.

  
The boy was kneeling, somehow still fully covered despite the lack of clothes - since, well, wolves didn't need clothes - and he smirked. "Shut up. I saved your ass." Miles' ocean eyes slid up to meet Stiles'.

  
After countless thank you's and a few 'you scared the shit out of me's', Stiles has transferred his jacket to Miles. It was basically freezing and he didn't want his saviour to get hypothermia or pneumonia or something. Miles carefully zipped it up and though he was taller than Stiles, it was baggy on him. Stiles mentioned it and snickered at the ill fit, but in reality, he was just trying not to look anywhere but his upper half, even if he was covered.

  
"Where's Scott?" Miles asked, his eyes wandering and tracing the tree line as if he were going to pop out any moment. Stiles shook his head. "I don't know where they went." He murmured, sounding both annoyed and upset. "I could've died!" He exclaimed but followed it with a giggle. Stepping forward, he gestured to his jacket. "Pass me my phone." Miles scoffed but took it from the pocket and tossed it to him. "Could've asked nicely." "Idiot." Stiles whispered as he sent a text to Scott.

  
>> We got separated but I'm heading hime now.  
>> home**

  
"Dick." Miles replied before Stiles began walking in the direction of where he'd parked his jeep. It was only a five-minute walk and almost as soon as the begun, they were stepping in front of Deaton's clinic. Stiles offered him a ride home and Miles accepted, climbing in and going silent for the rest of the ride. It wasn't awkward silence.

 

 

Stiles pressed on the brakes as they stopped at the bottom of Miles' drive. He clicked with his tongue. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess." Miles just nodded, keeping the air of silence and Stiles put his window down. He watched Miles walk around the front of the jeep before he got ready to go home himself.

  
Stiles failed to contain the soft yelp that erupted when something was thrown at him through the open window. He managed to catch whatever it was an his hands grasped comfortably at the fabric of his jacket. His eyebrows furrowed and for a moment, he forgot why he shouldn’t have his jacket. His gaze wandered up and he let out another yelp - this time more surprised and flustered - as he was met with a butt naked Miles. Thank God, he wasn’t facing him and he was already pretty close to his door, otherwise Stiles might’ve resorted to cleaning his eyes with bleach that night.

 

”A little warning would be great!” He yelled. Stiles was awkwardly leaning against the door so he didn’t have to look over there again. He pouted when Miles laughed and said a goodbye. Stiles, being as stubborn as he is, didn’t return it and started the jeep up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s only labelled underage because most of the characters are 16-18!


	2. Out in California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Smiles666  
> Chapter edited by Rowan666

A loud, ear piercing beeping sounded through out the house. The house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, but in this case it was just a set alarm clock.

A groan sounded from under a bundle of blankets, and slowly the one responsible scrambled from under, snatching the beeping machine, shutting it off with the simple press of a button.

God, what happened last night? Of course, Scott remembered it all by at this point he wished and prayed it was just a bad dream but the gentle ache in his arm told him otherwise. He just remembered the eyes. Those blood coloured eyes.

 

 

 _A tall wolf with brown and tan fur, its face, legs, and the end of it's tail was splashed with black, and its eyes were like blood, and it stood before him. It huffed, stepping closer to Scott without hesitation. It's posture, the way it looked at him, it was strange. Almost human like. A Werewolf?_  

_Scott felt his eyes shift, showing his alpha status - his true alpha status. The wolf nodded in acknowledgement, and some kind of wolfish smirk came from upon it's muzzle, its teeth a flashy white but dripping with blood._

_There was another growl, but this one was different... Another wolf moved to it's side, another, and another! There were plenty striding to its side, there had to be dozens of them. Scott, with a startled expression took a step back, staring in amazement._

_”Who are you?”_

_There was another sharp bark as the alpha wolf pounced towards him, and it's teeth clamped on his bicep._

 

Scott winced at the memory; it's smell, - it's scent - it was but a distant thing, stuck in the back of his mind. But instead of dwelling on the thought of it he got himself out of bed and dressed himself in a dark grey v-neck shirt, some jeans, and his black converse before tossing his bag on his back.

He grabbed his keys that sat next to his helmet did a slow jogged down the hallway then down the short flight of stairs. "Scott!" He could hear his mom call from the kitchen. "Yeah?" He called back as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

Once his mother came into view her head went from side to side in disapproval. "Jacket," Was the only thing she spat out as she continued to make herself a to-go cup of coffee. "I won't get cold mom, I'm–"

"I'm a Werewolf. And also my son." She shot back before he could finish.

The two stared at one another, challenging each other. But one thing led to another and Scott was back in his room grabbing a jacket from his closet. In the process, he passed the window showing the woods, which replaced a backyard most people would have.

There was movement coming from the corner of his eye, and he back tracked, peering through the foggy glass. There was a white blur crouched near a bush. He furrowed his eyebrows, leaning closer towards the glass to try and get a better look at it. It didn't focus, and right when he seen a flash of blue, a buzz shocked the brunette.

His eyes snagged away from the blur for a split second to glance back at his phone, but when he turned back to it, it was gone. He stared at the spot it stood once more before snatching his phone from his dresser. The name, Michaela, popped up on his screen, and he swiped the name, showing a message from the girl.

 

<< Heyy~ Come get me plzzz! Lost my car privileges because of nerds!

Scott snorted and replied.

>> Yeah, okay nerd.

Scott chuckled as he slipped his phone into his front pocket, grabbing an extra helmet into his bag before he jogged back downstairs. His mom gave him a tight hug along with a kiss on his head before he was out the door after a quick good-bye.

 

He threw his leg around the other side of the bike, placing the keys into ignition while kicking up the stand. The bike roared to life as he sped out of his driveway, driving down the curvy road on his lime green dirt bike, something he was very proud of after he saved up all summer to get it.

He banked around the corners until he finally stopped at an average small house, the baby blue paint was slightly dulling, but was brightened by the some flowers scattered about in pots. The greyish blue door pushed inwards and Michaela popped out.

 

She had a black top with a black and white flannel, shorts, and some black vans, her hair was down naturally, bouncing as she jogged down the small stairs. She paused as she stood beside the bike and Scott, blinking, then smaked her forehead softly. "Ugh. I wanna go home already."

Scott patted the seat behind him with a smile, before he passed the helmet packed in his bag. She sighed, taking the helmet into her own hands, then onto her head. She sat herself behind Scott, lifting her feet back away from the road. Hesitantly, her hands wrapped around his waist tightly as he pressed on the gas.

 

The two drove down the narrow roads until Scott pulled into their own personal hell, High School. Scott leaned onto his left leg as they came to a stop, taking his helmet off. Michaela released her hold around his waist, hoping off of the bike. She poped off the helmet, as Scott jumped up, kicking it's stand up.

There was a loud honk of a horn, followed by the slam of a door. "Fricken, FINALLY!" A voice called while the two set their helmets onto the bike. Stiles waved his hands, gesturing to the school with one of his awkward "happy" smiles. "Shall we?" As he said this the bell rang, and bodies began to walk into the school.

The three began to walk to the large old doors that lead inside to the school. There were just so many memories coming from the school, well, coming from everywhere you went in Beacon Hills.

It wasn't ever a normal day, and that's what made the small town special.

 

Students scattered to their classrooms, the Freshmen saying goodbye to their friends, and just one clumsy one stumbled in between Stiles and Scott. The force was quite unexpected from the short Freshman - it was even enough to push Scott back. The two stumbled to the side, Scott knocking Michaela off balance for a moment as they stared a bit surprised.

"Sorry." The boy mumbled, but he didn’t sound as timid as expected, as he continued to walk down the hall, mixing in with the other students. Stiles grumbled something about how rude it was, but now Scott was distracted by a certain smell. It was somewhat familiar to him. How?

 

Miles groaned as he easily moved through the flooding halls, heading to his homeroom. Something was just tugging on him, mentally, of course. The tension in the air was suffocating and his nostrils were filled with scents. Someone he's met? It felt... supernatural?

The halls began to loose the people flooding it, entering their own homeroom. But two people lingered behind. A boy with snow white hair, and another one who looked like your average light-skin fuckboy. The two boys stared at him almost like they'd met before; well, more the white boy with blue eyes.

The white haired boy glared at him as he passed by them and fuckboy chuckled at, who he assumed, was his friend. As he turned to his class, Miles was frankly confused as to why he couldn’t find it in him to turn to face them. He used to be an alpha, damnit. 

 

However, no one knew the trouble that sneakily snuck it’s way into their life and their school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give kudos or I’ll chop off your dick


	3. Walking Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written and edited by Rowan666

Homeroom was boring. Maybe Miles was exaggerating, but he was pretty sure that he could feel the radiation of death coming from half of the class. He was also pretty sure he wanted to get into politics to make school illegal.

He shuffled in his chair and no one really paid much attention to him. As far as he could tell, everyone was a year below him (he should’ve been a junior, but was stuck as a sophomore) and none were anything _interesting_.

Miles came to accept the mundane period as a punishment for something he did in a previous life.

Earlier that morning - though he hadn’t seen him - Miles could pick out the scents coming from Scott, and he was confused as he was, but Scott had fear underlying his. Miles wasn’t afraid. Maybe Scott had a run in with his white furred friend and got put in his place. God, he hoped so.

He’d doodled on at least two pages of his notebook and he only stopped when he realised he didn’t have much paper left anyway. After what seemed like hours, the bell rang and Miles gave a silent prayer to whoever was listening.

Everyone else shuffled out of the door and Miles soon followed, knowing full well that his return to Beacon Hills High School would be a outcasted one. Scott hated him and would probably string him to the ceiling by his balls the first chance he got, and Stiles was always attached to him so he decided lurking in the hallway until he next period would be alright.

After returning his notebook to it, he positioned himself against his locker so it didn’t take as much effort to stand, and waited until the halls cleared. He didn’t know why he waited, he just did.

 

Miles dug his phone out of his pocket, untangling the mess of headphones that followed and shoving them in his ears. It took him a minute or two to find a decent song, but he fell into a rhythm of silently tapping his fingers across the locker behind him.

Fuckboy passed. He went by Miles, still basically welded to wanna-be Draco Malfoy. He suppressed a snort when fuckboy gave him a quick - but, fuck, was it thorough - look over and if it was sunny, his slightly redder face and ears might’ve been sunburn.

The two sauntered out of the door and Miles hissed, his face paling again and he realised the beats from his fingers were irregular and uneven. He let himself slide onto the ground since no one was around.

God, was he desperate or what? Miles, the guy known nationally for not being able to hold any sort of relationship, blushing when a generic asshole gave him a second glance. At the very least, Miles was never the one blushing. Then again, it was usually dark and sweaty and–

As if in defeat, Miles huffed, the song on his track switching to something that was probably AC/DC or something similar.

 

There were times he hated being a werewolf. Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs - though he’d never strayed past the ‘safe’ line of weed - didn’t effect him anymore, and he only knew that because of his shitty living situation and upbringing. When your mom’s a deadbeat and your dad’s fuck knows where, you kind of slip into bad habits really early on, before he was 14 and bitten.

His thoughts ran like lost puppies when the door opened again and he paid it no attention until he felt someone gazing - no, no this wasn’t a gaze - staring at him. Miles swallowed the growing lump in his throat but didn’t look up still. He’d probably look like a fucking girl if he looked up and fuckboy was looking back.

The footsteps passed without stopping and Miles was grateful. He managed to catch him - and he was correct with his assumption - turn down a hallway. He’d dropped something.

 

Miles, out of pure curiosity and because he’d probably kick himself later if he didn’t, shuffled forward until the paper was under his shoe and then dragged it towards him. Of course, he had to make as little effort as possible. He grabbed it in both hands, quickly unfolding it and it looked like a piece of homework.

Oh. That wasn’t as exciting as he’d hoped. Chemistry, nothing really to– Nevermind. Miles groaned and if his eyes could go any further back into his head, they probably would. The dude’s number was scrawled in one of the corners.

Miles binned it. Or, he did mentally. In reality, he ripped off that corner, binned the worksheet and put the number into his pocket.

 

Stiles fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t Lydia level smart, but he wasn’t stupid so he knew how to label cells. What was he? Ten? He knew that Scott would have his intestines if he didn’t give him some notes, since Scott usually wrote down everything he _didn’t_  need.

At some point, Stiles must have zoned out, because the next thing he felt was someone tugging his arm. Just Danny, he reminded himself to see that his lab partner had already set up the majority of some experiment _thing_ that they’d been instructed to do.

Not like Stiles would know.

The next ten minutes passed quickly, Stiles and Danny taking turns looking down a microscope with equally unamused expressions, but anything for a good grade, right?

Sometime was mentioned about plants and Stiles made an assumption that some sort of poor, dead plant life was squished on the slide. He let Danny do whatever else was needed, but Stiles ended up ultimately packing everything away after a short bickering.

 

“You two are like an old married couple.” Scott interrupted. Stiles let out a loud, gobsmacked gasp and Danny chuckled before his face went straight and he shoved the microscope into Stiles’ arms.

He tried his best not to make _the face_ , as Scott so gracefully called it, while he begrudgingly moved halfway across the classroom and shoved the equipment into its little corner. He sat back down and didn’t pay attention for the rest of the lesson.

 

Miles ‘accidentally’ missed his next class. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic to sit through Spanish when he wasn’t expecting any spontaneous trips to Mexico anytime soon. He was expecting a cigarette sometime soon and it wasn’t a surprise when he found some in the bottom of his backpack.

Marlboro Smooth was plastered on the front. He refused to go within five feet of any that weren’t menthol. He pulled one out and - lucky him - found a lighter at the bottom of his bag too. It wasn’t so much that the nicotine would affect him anymore, it just _helped_. He didn’t know why. Placebo effect, probably. Or maybe he just liked something next to his lips.

He was tucked behind one of the buses, every now and then going silent when he heard some footsteps.

The phone number was still tucked in his jeans but he didn’t add it to his phone. He didn’t even think about it. He’d resorted to swimming in his thoughts instead of muffling them with music. Miles finished one cigarette, then put it out on the ground and lit himself another.

Miles took a deep drag, and that might’ve been the reason his thoughts wandered too far. To everything _before_ , to stuff Miles didn’t want to think about at all. He scrunched his nose up. 

The bell to signify the next period went and Miles didn’t move still. Social Studies wasn’t something he enjoyed either. He waited until the school fell silent again except for a few stragglers. No one came out to the buses since there wasn’t any need and Miles got to keep his peace and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, it’s pretty short. I’m going to do longer ones, this was just some sort of filler.


	4. School Bus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s so late, I’m one hell of a procrastinator

Much to Miles’ surprise, the day dragged. Skipping his first periods went quickly but after that it dragged. Every passing period, someone - teacher or student - came closer to discovering the little cubby he’d created for himself between the buses.

Sometime during lunch, he moved onto the bus to escape a particularly passionate sophomore couple. He chose the back of the bus and curled up onto the seat with his bag on the floor.

Miles sighed quietly. The two hadn’t seen him and he’d prefer to remain that way. He didn’t think they’d care though.

He stretched his legs across the back seat and reached into his bag. He’d created an impressive pile of cigarettes outside since he had basically nothing to do except chain smoke.

Anyone else would’ve gone home and done something more fun. Maybe scroll through Instagram for a few hours, but @miles_kg1 wasn’t really in use anymore. And he couldn’t go home.

 

Miles never really had a great childhood; if he spoke to a therapist about it, the police would probably be called. His parents were half decent until he was around 14 and accidentally came out as bisexual to his dad.

His dad, being the ‘devoted Catholic’ he was, fucked off to Florida after a few unnecessary bruises. His dad told him mom, who was more angry at him for leaving them. They didn’t get a divorce.

None of them heard from his dad.

His mom took up drinking and that helped her ease up. It helped her speak her mind to. And so, Miles became the target of his mother’s verbal abuse. Miles got used to it. He got used to his dad beating on him - for however short a time that was – you got used to being called a fag in his hometown and he got used to his mother, yelling drunken slurs and blaming him for his father leaving.

It got better, eventually.

 

Miles sucked on another cigarette, the menthol taste becoming sickening. It was his first day back and he’d already skipped all his classes. It was his first day back and he’d already found himself chain-smoking on the back of an old school bus.

He didn’t fit into any of the cliques that sat in the cafeteria. He wasn’t part of the chess club, he wasn’t popular, he didn’t feel like listening to heavy metal with a bunch of other kids with tragic pasts and limited futures.He sure as hell didn’t belong with Scott.

‘He’s forgiven you. He’s got over it, after all these years, he doesn’t care anymore.’ Stiles constantly reminded him. As if that would change anything. As if Scott would stop looking at him like he was the one who drew that sword through his first love.

 

Honestly? Miles couldn’t care less. He was perfectly content burning his money away in the lonely crook of a school bus.

He didn’t need friends. He didn’t need anyone.

If he wanted to, he could drop it. Drop everything. He could leave school, skip town, ditch his phone and never talk to Stiles or his mom or anyone ever again. No one needed him. No one wanted him.

The only person he had was himself, and he was ok with that. Alone protected him more than a pack or alpha ever could. He’d heard a lot about omegas; how they were weak and their howls carried the same reaction as nails on chalkboard.

Fuck that. Miles didn’t sound like a whimpering cat. Miles wouldn’t curl up in a corner and wait for a hunter to come along and rip him in two. Miles wasn’t going to desperately cling to whatever pack he could find.

Miles had barely noticed the chill creeping into the bus by the time lunch was over. By last period, it was significantly colder and Miles had begun to hear raindrops on the windows. It was peaceful though - sitting in a big yellow can, watching the rain and listening to it hit the roof with what little force it could muster. It was fucking poetic. 

 

Miles flinched when the last bell rang. It was then that he finally left, his bag slung over one shoulder lazily. He left his mark; a few cigarettes burned into the fabric of the seat.

He slipped out of the bus and shook his head slightly when the rain hit him. It was gentle (nothing like The Notebook, thank god. Miles didn’t think he could handle more affectionate couples.) but most people had still resorted to running to their cars and anywhere with shelter.

Miles snorted and begun his own way home. He went back into the school, absolutely reeking of smoke and tobacco, and exited again through the main doors. He caught a glimpse of Stiles’ jeep and ignored it.

God, he wanted to get out of there. He fantasised about how easy it would be. How he could just pack a bag and walk for a few miles. How he could hot wire a car and get somewhere nice, get a job.

When Miles realised that the best job he’d be able to get would be a form of ‘entertainment’ (to be delicate), he scrapped the idea and pushed everything to the back of his mind.

 

Miles pushed through the crowds of people until they thinned out and he was able to walk without tripping over someone.

He walked home from there and eventually there was no one around him at all. Miles walked down the streets as if he were the only person in the world. The same song was playing through his headphones that had been since he’d climbed onto the bus.

505 by The Arctic Monkeys.

It wasn’t a favourite of his but it was on repeat for some reason lately. It differed from his usual playlist of AC/DC and some other irrelevant edgy bands.

_When you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?_

He fought the urge to hum along, which he’d been doing quietly in the bus.

 

It was a twenty minute walk until Miles was finally back at his house. His eyes wandered to the front window and he saw the outline of the TV screen. He slipped towards the door and opened it, being careful to stay as quiet as possible. He kicked off his shoes at the bottom of the stairs and then climbed them. He assumed his mom was asleep.

Miles locked his door when he entered his room, whether it was a choice or just something he did unconsciously. He stripped himself of his shirt.

He sat on the edge of his bed with a soft groan. His phone was somewhere on the floor since it magically flew out of his pocket when his shirt came off. He could hear 505 playing quietly and muffled.

 

Carefully, the boy inspected his arm. The bullet wound that irritated him early that morning was almost healed, nothing more than a flesh wound. He traced around it, pressing gently to see where it still hurt, if anywhere.

Apart from being slightly sore, it was fine and Miles wished it’d just heal quicker. 

He stood up again and rolled his neck until it cracked. His hand wandered to his back pocket and hovered over it for a moment before pulling out a tiny scrap of paper. **202-555-0116**.

Miles groaned loudly and rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm as he stared at it.

 

A few minutes later, Fuckboy was successfully added to his contacts. Miles let out a breathy chuckle and shook his head. He’d delete it in the morning, he told himself.

>> hey

Hey? Was he a fucking girl? Miles snorted and turned his phone off. Of course he was curious, so of course he was going to text him. Just text him.

 

Sometime later, Miles snuck downstairs for something to drink. His mom was awake by then but she didn’t say anything or turn to look at him when he passed the living room.

His phone was still off. Miles didn’t turn it on still, probably because he didn’t want to see fuckboy’s reply. That, and he was hopefully avoiding any messes that Stiles got himself into. He’d call Scott first anyway.

Miles poured himself a glass of lemonade - even though it was flat - and drank it quickly. He put the glass in the sink, promising himself he’d clean it later, before heading back to his room.

His mom didn’t try to speak to him, so he was kind of glad.

When he got to his room, he again locked the door and allowed himself to check his phone. Although reluctantly, he switched his phone back on and it immediately beeped loudly a few times. He had some messages from Stiles, asking if he was dead in a ditch before deciding that in reality, a ditch wasn’t a suitable dumping ground for a body.

 

Miles chuckled softly and sent a quick text.

>> Not dead.

The rest of the notifications were pretty ordinary. A few random spam emails he’d been meaning to block, a sale notification from an online clothing store that Miles would thoroughly deny owning and another text.

This peaked his attention, since the name read Fuckboy. The exact reason he didn’t want to check his phone was now the reason he didn’t want to put it down.

<< Hey?

A lump formed in Miles’ throat and he swallowed it. He was such a fucking stupid, hormonal teenager and he hated himself right at that moment. It didn’t stop him from replying.

 

>> Miles. You dropped yoru number.

>> your*


	5. Dahlia

>> hey

<< Hey?

>> Miles. You dropped yoru number.

>> your*

Miles arrived at school the next day with black circles under his eyes. He wasn’t sure what time he fell asleep, just that the sun was rising. Although, he’d learned a significant amount about Fuckboy during that time.

First of all, his name was Lucien and he was a senior. He was born and raised in California - unlike Miles - and only moved to Beacon Hills when his mom got a job offer at the high school after a chemistry teacher happened to become a ritual sacrifice.

Lucien also revealed he was a born werewolf. He explained briefly that he’d caught Miles’ scent and from there, it wasn’t too hard to figure out he was an omega. Miles probably would’ve realised too (he had a thing for being overly observant at times) if he hadn’t been blushing like a teenage girl.

Fucking hormones.

 

Stiles was almost late, but then again, when wasn’t he? The jeep squealed to a half in its usual parking spot. He wasn’t at all surprised to find that he had almost run over Scott, who now distanced himself from the vehicle like it was going to jump up and eat him.

He muttered an apology, to the jeep and not Scott, for breaking so hard. Scott gave a concerned look through the window before Stiles swung open the door and approached him.

“Why the long face?” He frowned and Scott just shrugged. “Deaton thinks there might be another,” Scott muttered. It took Stiles a moment to catch on. Ah, yes, the body. Scott’s eyes wandered around as if he were trying to pinpoint who it would be - if it were even a high school student at all.

“He did an autopsy.” Scott continued, “She was a beta, killed by an alpha.”

“How?” Stiles knew better than to question Deaton’s methods, but so far, Stiles had only figured out that it was something chemical - probably, it was just a hunch - to do with an alpha’s class and he knew, from Derek, that they couldn’t control it.

Scott seemed to pause before waving off the question. “I dunno.” Stiles huffed as the two began off in the direction of the school.

Scott hadn’t gotten much sleep after the late-night phone call from Deaton. There was an alpha in Beacon Hills, which he already knew, but this was a bloodthirsty Alpha. Scott wouldn’t doubt that the dead beta was in the Alpha's pack. After what he learned with the alpha pack, he was no longer surprised to find out how worryingly common alphas turning on their packs were.

Scott let his mind wander and before he knew it, Stiles was standing idly next to him as he opened his locker. “Miles.” He muttered, pulling a confused expression from Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked and it sounded as if he were challenging - daring - Scott to finish that thought. Scott clenched his jaw before speaking. “I’m just saying, maybe he knows something.” Stiles glared at him and Scott just looked back like a lost puppy.

Stiles sighed. “I’ll ask him.” He grumbled quietly and accompanied it with an overdramatic eye roll. “He won’t know anything,” Stiles added in a reluctant mutter.

Scott unlocked his locker finally (he’d been wrestling with it while talking). He hummed softly when his eyebrows creased in confusion. His hand reached forward and he picked up a petal.

It was small, curled inwards and was a crimson red. Scott traced his finger over it gently. Stiles was now looking at it too. “Secret admirer?” Stiles teased with an over the top wink.

Scott chuckled. “I think secret admirers leave flowers, not a single petal.” He replied. “Not like you’d know.” He added jokingly which gained a glare from Stiles.

The bell rang. The petal was compressed between the pages of Scott’s notebook. It might’ve seemed like nothing, but in Beacon Hills, nothing was everything.

 

The day went by fast. Miles skipped every period except history. Scott spent most of the day obsessing over the red petal. Stiles went through the day as usual; he took a few lines of notes before giving up and questioning whether he actually needed to graduate.

When the last bell rang, Stiles mentally reminded himself to check in with Miles because, as Scott said, he might know something.

 

It didn’t take Stiles long to find Miles tucked between the buses. He skipped a few times with him in freshman year and that’s where they went.

“Milesy.” He chirped in a teasing sing-song voice as he approached. Miles glanced up, glaring at him with a cigarette in one hand, which he prompt put out. He might not get lung cancer, but he didn’t want to be responsible for Stiles if he died from second-hand smoke inhalation.

He killed the last of the embers with his thumb - because he could - which promptly healed from the slight burn. Stiles narrowed his eyes and Miles shrugged. “Scott’s being an intrusive dick.” He muttered quietly and if Miles wasn’t a werewolf, he wouldn’t have heard him.

Miles smirked and raised his eyebrow, swallowing a laugh. “Okay, and?” He set his head back on the bus and Stiles joined him on the floor against it. “He thinks you know something. About the new pack.” He gestured randomly with his left hand.

“Nope,” Miles responded quickly. “I mean, I don’t know them. And I don’t know how they managed to find a pack of full shifting werewolves or whatever.” He added with a huff as he pressed his lips together.

Stiles nodded, looking at his shoes while Miles stared a hole into his temple. Miles absentmindedly chewed on his bottom lip as he looked back to his knees.

Eventually, he decided that if Stiles hadn’t gotten some form of lung disease from freshman year with him, he would be fine for a few minutes. He pulled out another cigarette from his bag and lit it, then returning the lighter to his bag.

“Scott just seemed sure you knew something. But then again, it is Scott, and Scott kinda hates you. Because of Allison. I get it but you’re cool. You’re cool, Scott just doesn’t see it because every time he sees you he-“ Stiles cut himself off with a childish giggle. “Sorry, rambling.”

Miles gently nudged him with his elbow and Stiles coughed, before changing the subject. “So, nothing? Not even a blip on your little werewolf radar?” Stiles didn’t even know how that worked, just that they could detect supernaturals from scent and sometimes distinguish between ‘ranks’.

Miles creased his eyebrows and now it was Stiles’ turn to burn a hole into Miles’ head. “Nope. Nothing. You know I’d tell you.” That was true. He’d tell Stiles - if it was just Stiles. If he wasn’t welded to Scott fucking McCall and if they didn’t share everything like some weird telepathic buddies.

Stiles took his answer and Miles was glad. Lucien had nothing to do with the pack. Stiles didn’t need to know every werewolf Miles talked to either, just the slightly homicidal ones they might have to keep an eye on.

 

After a few minutes of silence, Stiles nodded and clumsily stood. “I’ve gotta go.” He muttered, as if he had to apologise for leaving. Miles just smiled slightly and Stiles returned it with a wave as he disappeared behind the bus.

Miles sometimes wondered if things would be different if Stiles and Scott weren’t best friends. Maybe Miles could’ve been involved in all of their little adventures instead of being the one that was the demonised antagonist each and every time. Sure, it was fun, until your best friend started talking to you less because his best friend hated you.

Miles learned not to attempt to murder any future friend’s girlfriends.

 

Stiles wasn’t satisfied with Miles’ answer, which is why he fished his phone out of his pocket when he wasn’t looking. It wasn’t hard, since Miles never paid attention to anyone anyway. He’d probably get blasted with a lecture on invasion of privacy afterwards, but at least his suspicions would be eased.

He’d called Scott and told him - obviously - and Scott seemed to be all for it. Stiles briefly mentioned that he’d have to figure out his password, to which Scott said might be difficult. “I know, like, everything about the guy, Scott. It’s like with you; we may as well be the same person.” Stiles snorted and his eyes wandered over the phone.

It was a cheap phone. It was a touchscreen but Stiles knew Miles barely used it. It was probably an iPhone 4 (Stiles would be damned if he knew) but the lock was a letter combination because the keyboard popped up when he tried to unlock it the first time.

“Right, I’m gunna go and try to crack this.” He muttered. Him and Scott exchanged brief goodbyes before hanging up and Stiles’ full attention focused on the phone.

‘Miles’. Nope. Why would he have his own name as his password? Worth the shot. Stiles grunted as he tried a random word. ‘Ocean’. He didn’t know why he chose that word. It just reminded him of Miles - more specifically, his eyes.

He hummed softly, tapping in a few more things. ‘BeaconHills’, ‘London’, other places he knew had meaning to him, but he just ended up locking the phone for 30 seconds. Stiles ran his hands through his hair with a sigh and tugged at it gently.

Stiles paced for thirty seconds before slipping back into the chair and picking up the phone. He was probably a narcissist for thinking it, but he was Miles’ best friend - and probably his only friend - so he typed out his hunch.

The phone unlocked with a click and he quietly laughed at how generic the password was. The password was now saved in the back of his mind. ‘Stiles’ wasn’t exactly a secure password.

Stiles’ eyes instantly hovered to the message icon, which he clicked and a bunch of unsaved numbers appeared. He tried not to pry more than he had to, but an exchange with 209-212-9832 caught his attention.

>> Alpha?

<< Not sure

>> Why not?

>> Next time, be sure before you message

<< Will do

The exchange was short and dated as a few weeks prior. Stiles furrowed his eyebrows at it. So Miles did know more than he was letting on.

Stiles spent a while scrolling through messages. Most were random and he felt like he barely knew Miles after he was done. It was sunset now - because Miles somehow had a lot of contacts - and Stiles groaned.

Something was missing. He wasn’t sure what. He had Luci saved in his contacts, but no phone calls or text threads. If it were Stiles, he would’ve deleted all of the information about a new pack.

 

Stiles spent the next hour trying to retrieve the messages through his computer and using a small trick Danny taught him. He ended up calling Danny and having him carefully walk him through it and he didn’t ask any questions. He left Stiles to finish it on his own, which was pretty easy and Stiles was overjoyed to see the messages reappear, and lots of them.

 

5.26pm

>> hey

 

6.19pm

<< Hey?

 

6.32pm

>> Miles. You dropped yoru number.

>> your*

 

6.34pm

<< Pretty name for a pretty face.

<< Lucien.

 

6.35pm

>> Right.

 

6.35pm

<< Ineffective flirting?

 

6.36pm

>> Adequate

 

6.37pm

<< Teach me, then.

 

Stiles almost gagged a few times in the next few messages and promptly skipped a large chunk of unnecessary chat. He gasped when he came to what seemed to be the right part.

 

10.46pm

<< Omega, right?

 

10.47pm

>> ???

 

10.49pm

<< Sorry

<< Made an observation earlier

<< Werewolf, right??

 

10.51pm

>> Yeah?

 

10.52pm

<< Same here

<< Not the omega thing

<< Werewolf

 

10.56pm

>> Cool

>> Didn’t notice

 

10.58pm

<< Wonder why ;)

 

Again, Stiles found himself skipping through a bunch of rambling text messages that he didn’t even dare read. He was surprised by how much they talked. He could barely hold a ten minutes text conversation with the guy.

So, Miles hid a known werewolf from him. Why? Was he the alpha? Stiles knew that teenage alphas weren’t all that common, but he’d come across a lot in his lifetime. Too many. Especially Miles, the youngest he’d come across until he lost his status.

Stiles kept scrolling long into the night and it was around 8 pm when he’d read the majority of the conversation. Now, he was deciding how to return the phone without his noticing. Great.

He didn’t text Scott. He didn’t tell him because he knew he’d go insane. He’d tell Stiles that it made Miles dangerous and he’d probably make a point of keeping them apart for ‘his own safety’.

 

8.14pm

<< Evening gorgeous

 

Stiles was confused until he remembered that Miles had been texting this guy. He groaned quietly, not opening the notification and deciding he’d just have to try his best for Miles to not notice the missing device for a while.

Stiles wasn’t very good at self-control, because he found himself texting back.

 

8.20pm

>> Hey

 

8.21pm

<< Thought you’d quit on me

 

8.22pm

>> No

 

8.22pm

<< Good

 

8.24pm

<< Saw you around today

 

8.26pm

<< Liked the flannel on you

 

8.29pm

<< Talk to me?

 

8.30pm

>> I am

 

8.32pm

<< Not over text, idiot

 

8.34pm

>> I’m not an idiot

 

8.37pm

<< Of course darling

<< At school

<< You’re basically famous for your accent

<< Want to judge it for myself

 

8.39pm

>> Famous?

 

8.40pm

<< The mysterious Brit.

 

8.41pm

>> Guilty

 

8.43pm

>> Low signal

>> Gotta shoot

 

8.49pm

<< Talk soon

 

Stiles huffed. He’d probably stirred the pot more than he had to now. He deleted the text messages he’d sent and the ones he’d restored, hoping that this ‘Lucien’ guy wouldn’t bring it up with the real Miles.

 

Scott was anxiously awaiting a phone call which never came. He ended up deciding Stiles didn’t know how to unlock the phone. After all, he wasn’t a master hacker.

Now, his attention drew to his own phone and a conversation he’d been holding for the past fifteen minutes.

 

8.56pm

<< Scott??

<< Did he find anything yet

 

8.58pm

>> Nt sure

>> He hasn’t called

 

8.58pm

<< Probably couldn’t open it

 

8.59pm

>> Yeah

>> Michaela?

 

9.03pm

<< Yeah?

 

9.05pm

>> What if we can’t figure this one out

 

9.06pm

<< You always do

 

9.06pm

>> If we can’t

 

9.08pm

<< You will

 

9.13pm

<< Shit I’ve got the night shift

<< Talk tmrw

 

9.15pm

>> C’ya

 

Satisfied, Scott put his phone down. Michaela was the person he went to if Stiles was being weird. Well, Stiles was always being weird. But if he was busy or something, Michaela was the equally goofy and enthusiastic person he could go to.

He leaned back on his bed. Yeah. Maybe there was more to it than her just being a replacement Stiles (though no one could truly replace him). Scott stared aimlessly at his ceiling.

He had lacrosse tryouts tomorrow. Coach just wanted him to test the new ‘recruits’ aka the underperforming freshmen. He didn’t mind since the team was a little sparse at the minute.

He only despised having to teach the freshman almost everything he knew because Coach usually didn’t want to either. After last year, Scott understood why.

Scott didn’t realise when he fell asleep, but he did.

 

_And then he was in the forest._

_With the leaves curling around his bare ankles and tugging him into place like odd tendrils, Scott glances around with a worried expression. He tried to move. The vegetation kept him firmly in place._

_“Stiles!” He yelled. Stiles was always nearby; always ready to throw himself into some danger; always keeping Scott on his toes. Nothing. Not this time._

_The leaves became tighter and Scott only saw the thorns when he felt them stab into his calves. Then he saw the eyes. The two glowing red eyes moving in the brush, occasionally disappearing under a thicket and reappearing even closer. He inhaled through his teeth, the air almost freezing at this point._

_The eyes moved more as if they weren’t attached to a body. Scott would think they were just floating orbs if he didn’t hear the heavy footsteps and recall why he recognised them._

_He wasn’t sure how exactly he escaped that night, but he remembered the teeth ripping into his flesh and muscle. He remembered shaking off his attacker - somehow - and sprinting into the forest. But now, he couldn’t run. He couldn’t move._

_The wolf finally revealed itself. It - no, Scott was pretty sure it was a he - looked the same as the previous night he’d encountered it, minus the backup. The white wolf was nowhere to be seen. He was alone._

_The same blood coated its face and Scott couldn’t help but wonder when that body would be found, who it was. Scott tried to speak. ‘Why are you doing this? What do you want? Who are you?’ Something! But every time he opened his mouth, he was barely able to breathe._

_The wolf stalked closer, his eyes never leaving Scott. He eyed him up like he was prey just waiting to be devoured. Even step that he took, a flurry of beautiful red flowers blossomed. The petal._

_But before Scott could even think about it, the alpha’s jaws were wrapped around his bicep and the leaves released him and he fell backwards._

 

Scott didn’t appreciate the rough wakening and groaned when he realised he’d been asleep for an hour. He didn’t get enough sleep as it was, he didn’t need nightmares haunting him too.

He lumbered over to his desk even though he was still half asleep and opened a new tab. ‘Red flowers’, Scott typed into Bing, as if a single flower would appear and his problems would be solved.

He found a particularly helpful website with pictures and names, so he spent thirty minutes going through it.

Amaryllis were too tall and skinny. Roses were too elegant. Pentas had too few petals. Scott was almost giving up on his search, scrolling to the last page of results. What made it worse was that they weren’t even in any specific order.

Yes! That’s it! Scott would’ve whooped with joy if it wasn’t so late. He’d found it!

 

10.53pm

<< Stiles!

 

10.58pm

>> Scott, it’s late

 

10.59pm

<< What can you find on Dahlias?

 

11.02pm

>> Give me a while

 

Stiles was grumpy to have his evening disturbed by a frantic text from Scott about flowers. Still, being the loyal friend he was, he took to an in-depth research of Dahlias, which was something he never would’ve seen himself doing. Ever.

‘Dahlias are native to Mexico.’ ‘There are 14 types of Dahlias...’ Stiles got fed up of the research pretty fast. He had Scott fill him in on his nightmare and send him a photo of one that looked like the ones he’d seen. Stiles didn’t see why the flowers were so significant, but he found out they were Ball Dahlias and Scott thanked him.

 

00.26pm

>> Scott! Wait

 

0.42pm

<< What?

 

0.43pm

>> Found something

 

Stiles had become increasingly curious over the course of researching them, and a few hours deep into Google, he found a rather confusing chart.

 

0.45pm

>> They were red right?

 

0.52pm

<< Yeah

 

0.56pm

>> Dahlias symbolise elegance and dignity so I didn’t think it meant anything

>> Red Dahlias are different

 

0.57pm

<< Get to the point

 

0.58pm

>> Dishonesty and betrayal


	6. Curly Fries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t put a photo in this chapter because I’m on my phone, but I’ll post one in the next few days. Sorry!

Scott spent the rest of the night and the subsequent day thinking about the dahlias. He had no clue why they were flowers either. Why couldn’t the alpha just throw a massive sign at him saying what he meant and they could all just move on?

The lacrosse tryouts had gone fine, apart from it wasn’t entirely made up of freshmen. A few juniors and a singular senior wormed their way in and Scott discovered they were surprisingly good.

A certain white haired boy peaked his interest - partly because he vaguely remembered him and partly because he was really good. Like, Liam Dunbar good. He reeked of the supernatural though, Scott just couldn’t place it.

The senior was good as well, which is why him and the freshman made the team. Collins and Roberts (last names, customary according to Coach).

Collins - the freshman - was short but still good. Scott couldn’t place what he was, just that he wasn’t human and it bugged him for the rest of the day. Roberts however, was a complete opposite.

Where Collins had pale skin and even paler hair, Roberts was lightly tanned with pitch black hair. He was freakishly tall too - probably around Isaac’s height, if not taller - and a brick of a guy.

Scott was actually scared he was going to kill him at some points. He was also easier to place; werewolf.

Still, Scott vowed to keep an eye on them, mainly because Stiles told him to, and that’s what he planned to do.

 

“Scott!” Stiles’ voice dragged him out of his thoughts. Stiles had been thinking about it all too, but he knew a little more than Scott. He knew about Miles’ ‘friend’.

Scott coughed and muttered an apology. “Come on, dude! Nothing?” He threw his arms in the air dramatically. “I need to sneak his phone back.” Stiles had become increasingly paranoid about returning Miles’ phone.

Scott was kind of annoyed that he didn’t have anything incriminating on it. It wouldn’t hurt for Miles to slip up once or twice.

He shrugged. “Maybe just slip it into his bag or locker.” Scott suggested. Stiles scoffed over dramatically. “You think u know his locker combination?” Scott smirked and Stiles glared at him before his face softened and he muttered. “703-429.”

Scott chuckled quietly. “Just put it in there then.” Stiles nodded. That’s what he’d do.

The shook day was over, so Stiles pushed himself from where he leaned in the hood of his jeep. Most people had already left. Scott announced his leave and Stiles murmured a goodbye.

Nonchalantly, he slipped back into the school. It was quiet when he entered but Stiles didn’t quite throw caution to the wind. He remembered where the locker was easily and as he approached, a wave of anxiety washed over him.

What if Miles noticed? Who was he kidding! He had to have noticed his phone missing by now. What if he knew Stiles took it and confronted him? Stiles groaned quietly and tapped his finger on the locker softly.

 

Finally, he took the lock in his hand and listened to the click as he inputted the code. It opened. Stiles mentally fist pumped and gently placed the phone next to a math textbook. Stiles didn’t know why Miles had a textbook. He never seemed to study.

He shut the locker silently.

 

Miles - for the third or fourth time - turned his room upside down searching for his phone. His mom would kill him if she found out that he’d lost it. With a defeated sigh, he gave up and shuffled over to his computer.

He had a tracker, so hopefully his phone was still turned on. Maybe. Miles booted up the computer and it whirred a few times before the screen came on. He typed in a password and the screensaver changed as little icons appears all over the screen. It took him a while to find it, but he managed to locate the Find My iPhone app he had installed. Thank God for technology.

After typing in his Apple ID details and going through a few security questions, the screen was buffering as it tried to track his device. Miles knew he didn’t have the best internet, so it took a few minutes for it to finally load.

And, his phone was in... the school? Miles groaned loudly. He’d probably just dropped it or left it in his locker without realising. Stupid! He exited the tab after refreshing the page a few times to make sure.

The mouse wandered to the video call option and he clicked it, scrolling through the limited contacts. There was only a few; Claire, Stiles and Raeken. He didn’t even remember much about Claire; they used to talk in freshman year.

 

A few seconds later, Miles was waiting for Stiles to answer his call, if he wasn’t already on call with Scott, that is. Miles was about to hang up when he answered. Stiles greeted him with a confused expression. “Hello to you, too.” Miles muttered before going into a tiny rant about his phone. Stiles didn’t try to interrupt, so Miles stopped as soon as he said he’d located it. “What’s up?”

Stiles was hyperactive and basically thought out loud, so him being a quiet recluse was weird. Miles of all people knew this. And Scott. God, he hated Scott.

Stiles shook his head, smiled and spoke. “Nothin’. Just swamped with school work.” He grumbled, disappearing out of the frame for a moment and coming back with a chemistry textbook. He held it up so that Miles could see it, then flicked through a few pages. They were highlighted in. Mix of red and yellow, mainly red.

Miles chuckled quietly. “Red, you don’t understand, right?” Stiles nodded. “Well, you’re fucked.” Stiles glared at him through the screen and Miles fought back a loud laugh.

 

After a few minutes, he’d composed himself again. Stiles was now staring intently at the textbook. “What is it you’re studying?” Miles couldn’t believe he - the guy who got help behind for sophomore year - was offering Stiles - the guy who was probably only a fraction dumber than Lydia freaking Martin - help.

Stiles hummed aloud when he squinted at the top of the page, reading the chapter title. “Polyatomic species.” He paused and place the book in his lap. “Did I even say it right?” He groaned.

Miles was high schooled for the majority of his freshman year and then his entire sophomore year, which is why he got kept behind. They had him do a bunch of exams when he showed interest in rejoining Beacon Hills High School and he failed practically all of them. Because ‘homeschooling’ was his mom hoping he was studying when he was actually going on rampages with a pack of alphas. Miles did a lot of things he regretted.

“Yeah, you said it right.” Miles commented before standing. He heard Stiles mutter some lines from the textbook as he began rifling through his closet for his own.

 

Eventually, he did find it and repositioned himself in front of the camera. He muttered something as he flipped through the pages until he found the right chapter. It was already covered in highlighter from a time in freshman year when he actually tried and did extra credit.

Miles muttered softly to himself, trying to jog him memory. “A polyatomic ion, also known as a molecular ion, is a charged chemical species composed of two or more atoms covalently bonded or of a metal complex that can be considered to be acting as a single unit.” He scoffed loudly. How the hell did he ever do this?

He chuckled lightly and glanced up to Stiles on the screen. “I think it’s just ions? Ions with more than one atoms or something.” He shrugged and dropped the textbook, to which Stiles gently hit his head on the desk. “Miles. It says that in the textbook. I can read.” Miles furrowed his eyebrows. “Then read about them.”

“It’s not,” Stiles cut himself off when he remembered he was speaking to the one guy who couldn’t give a shit about school. “Nevermind. I’ll just fail.” He snorted and closed the book. This was another non-typical Stiles behaviour, which again flew over Miles’ head. “You’ll do fine. You’re, like, naturally smart or some shit.” Miles muttered and leaned his chin on his hand.

Stiles shook his head with a giggle. “I used to study so much. It’s just a lot now; werewolves and stuff.” Miles just nodded, not responding. And they both stayed silent for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward and when they spoke, it was Miles explaining that he had to go because he could hear his mom waking up downstairs.

 

“Hey, Miles. Why don’t you try out for the lacrosse team?” He asked before Miles had a chance to end the call. Miles shrugged, “Not my thing. I’d end up killing someone.” He glanced to his wall aimlessly, “And I don’t like sports.” Stiles nodded, smiled and licked his lips. “Right, see ya.” Miles nodded his goodbye and waited for Stiles to hang up, which he promptly did. He slipped to his door and locked it, laying back on his bed.

 

Stiles aced his chemistry exam. It was a surprise to Stiles and everyone else. He thought he’d been given Lydia’s paper at first because he didn’t expect 67/80 to be slapped on the front of his. Scott congratulated him and Stiles called Miles - who had luckily found his phone in his locker - and told him. They said they’d celebrate, just without Scott because they didn’t need a fight breaking out.

Miles’ mom overheard him talking to him Friday night over the phone and in her drunken state, said she’d cook Stiles a meal ‘or something’. Stiles overheard and Miles tried to convince him it was a bad idea, but Stiles told him he was already on his way over. Miles and his mom had a brief discussion (mainly just noises from her end because she could barely speak) and Miles took a $20 from her purse when she turned around.

He closed the living room door, because it was littered with beer bottles and Stiles didn’t need to see that. He’d decided they could just get take-out and hang in his room for a while. No more sneaking out of windows.

Miles gave himself the sniff test and failed, so slowly climbed the stairs to change his clothes. It wasn’t like it was a date or anything. He just didn’t want to smell like shit.

 

He was half way into a burgundy flannel when the doorbell rang, so he made sure to button it up fully before heading back downstairs. Stiles greeted him with a cheesy grin and Miles shoved him inside. “Upstairs.” He muttered. “Gonna get take-away.” Stiles nodded, jogged up the stairs and yelled something about curly fries. Miles followed him soon after.

 

“How can I help you?” Miles tried to ignore Stiles in the background, basically chanting curly fries as he placed the order. “And a side of curly fries.” He glared at Stiles, who retaliated with a whoop. “Is that all?” Stiles had set himself in front of Miles’ computer and had begun to turn it on. “Yeah.” He just hoped he didn’t have porn or some shit on there. He didn’t want to scar the kid. “Your total comes to £16.78 and delivery will be approximately 20 minutes.” Miles quietly thanked the lady on the phone before hanging up and turned back to Stiles.

Stiles was at least a month deep into his browser history and Miles furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t stupid, though. He deleted his browser history almost daily, so the most Stiles would find would be Reddit and a few random study tools from 2016.

Unimpressed, Stiles resorted to searching the rest of his computer. He inspected the contacts of the video calling app thoroughly. “Raeken? As in Theo Raeken?” Miles nodded. “He’s... not nice.” Stiles frowned and seemed to stare intently at the delete button.

Miles didn’t even know why he let him basically strip search his entire computer. Still, it didn’t bother him. Mainly because there was nothing personal or suspicious on it.

“I knew him in middle school. Not for long, just never deleted the contact I guess.” Miles moved Stiles’ hand from the mouse and directed the cursor away from the delete button though. “Claire?” Stiles blurted our as Miles exited the app and turned off the computer.

“Freshman year. She used to go to Beacon Hills, then her parents moved to Florida.” Miles muffled a laugh. “We had a thing going for a while.” Stiles huffed and laughed in one strange noise. “Of course you did. Playboy Miles.” They both stayed silent for barely a second before erupting into laughter. 

 

When the food arrived, Stiles stole half of it even though Miles insisted he’d paid for it. “You took the money from your mom.” He murmured around a cheeseburger. Miles just glared at him before plucking an onion ring from a bag. His phone buzzed in his pocket and Stiles didn’t seem to notice.

 

7.56pm

<< You up?

 

7.57pm

>> Sounds like a booty call

 

7.57pm

<< You wish

 

7.58pm

>> Not really

>> I’m with a friend

 

7.58pm

<< Girlfriend?

 

7.58pm

>> No

 

7.59pm

<< Boyfriend?

 

7.59pm

>> No

 

8.00pm

<< Curiouser and curiouser

 

8.01pm

>> It means I can’t talk

>> Later

 

Miles tucked his phone into his jean pocket again just as Stiles seemed to notice it. “Who was that?” He said without looking up from the half cheeseburger he was now gazing at lovingly. “Friend.” Miles muttered in response. “You don’t have friends.”

Miles snorted and threw a fry at him. “Dick.” Stiles frowned at the waste of food before shooting back, “Idiot.”


	7. Under the Bleachers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, a photo of Miles. It’s a collage I made, especially for you guys. It’s linked at the start.

[Requested photo of Miles!](https://avid-fanfictioner.tumblr.com/post/178959636595/miles)

 

Stiles stayed until 10. They cleaned up the empty food bags before he left and Stiles had forgotten all about taking Miles’ phone.

Stiles’ finger drummed on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn green. He didn’t see the point for it to be red since there were no other cars, but he wasn’t about to risk a ticket for running it.

He waited a few seconds longer before the light changed. He was only a few minutes away from his house when he started driving again.

 

No sooner had he gotten up to the speed limit, he screamed a flurry of curses as the sound of tires squealing filled the partially wooded area. It was dark and he could barely see it since the only luminosity was from the dim light from his headlights.

The same damn white wolf was stood in the middle of the road, eyes glowing icy blue and staring straight into Stiles’ soul. The jeep was still running but Stiles didn’t move to go. He should’ve. He really wanted to. But something stopped him.

That was it. The wolf stared at him and he stared back for a few moments - his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel - before it simple crossed the road into the woods and disappeared.

Stiles could handle the supernatural but that was just plain fucking creepy.

 

Scott picked up the phone to Stiles incoherently bleating about his tires and a wolf. After a few moments, Stiles managed to calm his panicking. “There was a wolf. A white wolf.” He mumbled, realising he never told Scott about the wolf in the woods when Miles showed up.

So he did. “The night we went into the woods, at Deaton’s. When I got separated from you, a wolf showed up. A white wolf with blue fucking eyes, Scott.” Scott took a sharp breath. “How the hell did you-“ But Stiles was already launching into an explanation as to how Miles showed up and saved the day (or night). He didn’t mention that he had no clue how he got there, or that he could fully shift which even Stiles didn’t know until that point. Once he was finished, he’d subconsciously begun driving with the phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder.

He also didn’t mention he was coming back from Miles’ house. That and the full-shifting thing would probably cause Scott to throw all of the blame onto Miles. They were always at each other’s throats. It was hard being the middle man.

 

Scott hadn’t said anything more, but he suggested Stiles come over so they could discuss things. “No, I think I just want to sleep, honestly.” He said softly as he pulled into his drive. 

Scott cleared his throat. “Yeah, alright. Let’s talk tomorrow then.” He spoke without pause, not giving Stiles a chance to even agree. “I think I saw the same one.” Stiles gulped. “Okay.” He stammered, tripping over the ‘o’ a few times before finally managing it. He wasn’t bothered where Scott saw the wolf right now. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

 

Miles found himself a comfortable space sat on his windowsill, legs hanging out of the window, as his fingers tapped at the screen of his phone.

10.37pm

>> Tomorrow? You’re fresh meat tho

 

10.37pm

<< Practice is practice I guess

 

10.38pm

>> I’ll drop by

Miles had been texting Lucien some more, and had learned even more about him. He tried out for the lacrosse team (and got in) and he was waiting another few days for them to get him a jersey with ‘Roberts’ on it. He was borrowing an spare one for now.

10.39pm

<< You will?

 

10.41pm

>> Why not?

 

10.45pm

<< Didn’t think we were at that point in our relationship

<< Better tone it down or people might talk

Miles snorted loudly. ‘Our relationship’ being the texting and odd flirting they’d exchanged over the past few days. Miles knew it wasn’t entirely one sided either.

10.48pm

>> Let them talk

He huffed loudly, a smile threatening to creep onto his lips. He’d barely even talked to anyone since he left in freshman year. No wonder he was fucking easy.

10.51pm

<< That an offer?

 

10.53pm

>> You tell me

Miles had barely realised the time.

10.54pm

>> Don’t you have practice tomorrow?

>> Sleep, mister

 

10.56pm

<< Fine, mom

He ended the conversation there.

Over the past day or two, the conversations seemed way less forced and Miles knew he’d need to get a better contract if they kept texting this much. 

 

When Stiles got home, he almost instantly collapsed on his bed. His crime board was empty for once. He ‘reset’ it every new school year (as long as it wasn’t in use at the time). He was dreading having to set it up again. His eyes wandered lazily to the red string before he buried his face into his pillow with a groan with the hope he’d be able to sleep easy.

 

The next day - a Friday, thank god - was annoying for everyone. No one wanted to go to school or deal with murderous werewolves on a Friday. Nevertheless, Stiles found himself lecturing Scott about staying safe during practice, reminding him not to shift - as if he didn’t know - and that there were other wolves on the team.

Stiles had no clue how he passed his chemistry test because when it rolled around for the second lesson of the week, he considered jumping out of the window during the second half before realising they were on ground level. 

Lunch came around and he went to find Miles instead of staying with Scott like he usually would. It wasn’t anything personal against Scott, obviously. Scott was his best friend. He was just a little worried about the text messages he’d yet to reveal, especially after Scott revealed a new senior called Lucien Roberts joined the team.

He was unsuccessful in finding Miles. He checked the buses multiple times before defeatedly sauntering back to Scott with a frown.

“What’s up? Can’t find your boyfriend?” He teased with a pout and Stiles hit him over the side of the head and mumbled. “You’re lucky you’re a werewolf.” Scott chuckled.

 

It took Stiles most of his mental energy t get through to the end of the day, then to stay behind for practice too. If anything, he was there for Scott since he was basically always benched anyway.

Stiles was surprised when they all trudged out onto the field and he spotted Miles among the dozen people in the bleachers. He furrowed his eyebrows at first, but soon stopped staring when Scott dragged him along.

 

Miles had a pen between his teeth and a notebook on his lap. He decided he may as well study a little. It was just practice after all, he didn’t need to pay lots of attention to anything.

He’d shot Stiles a grin when he spotted him and quickly went back to scribbling something about different types of chemical bonds.

“Hey.”

Miles glanced up to see 6’2” Lucien towering over him in full lacrosse gear. To be honest, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t mildly terrified. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m not a nerd.” He finally choked out. “I don’t, like, study everyday or anything.”

Lucien laughed and, fuck, did he have an attractive laugh. Miles went for people with rocking bodies and faces to match usually - which Lucien had - but he could help but smile slightly when his head tilted back and his eyes creased.

Miles coughed quietly and Lucien mumbled something about Coach already being on his ass. “I’ll find you after, yeah?” Miles nodded in response and Lucien vanished down the bleachers.

He hummed softly to the same song that had been an ear worm for the last few days. Out Of My League by Fitz And The Tantrums. It was a leap from his usual style, and from the previous Arctic Monkeys song he’d had stuck in his head. It probably had something to do with the buff lacrosse player he’d been flirting with.

 

Stiles was already exhausted barely a few minutes into simple shooting. He half expected to be put into the net, but was overjoyed when he wasn’t. After all, he didn’t feel like having balls pelted at him for an hour.

Practice was mainly Liam, Scott, Lucien and the white haired kid scoring a bunch of shots, and Coach complaining about Lucien not signing up sooner. Stiles actually scored for once (twice, actually!) and he had a kindling that the goalie was going easy on him.

Halfway through, he goalie was switched because he received a high speed ball to the chest and whined until Coach let him sit out.

The rest of the hour was uneventful and Miles ended up doodling instead of studying, one eye trained on the flurry of balls and another on a particularly odd monster growing from the corner of his page.

He’d shoved his notebook into his backpack when everyone began to go back to the locker rooms. Lucien stayed and waited for Miles to get to the bottom of the bleachers before they began walking in a random direction, next to the bleachers.

 

They chatted about random things; lacrosse, their texting and even seals at one point. Miles wasn’t sure how that came up. It was later too, and they’d been talking for at least half an hour. Miles had made himself comfy underneath the bleachers, his arms holding onto a stable pole above his head while Lucien sat on a lower one.

“Why Beacon Hills? Couldn’t your mom have gotten a job anywhere else?” Miles raised an eyebrow and anticipated the answer. “You trying to get rid of me already?” Lucien scoffed in retaliation and Miles grinned. “Not yet.” Lucien muttered something along the lines of ‘good’ and stood up, glancing to his lacrosse gear he’d removed previously when he got uncomfortable so he was now just in trainers, sweats and a t-shirt.

Lucien turned the question back on him. “Why did you move to Beacon Hills? From London of all places, too.” He shot him a glance as he sauntered slightly closer and leaned against a pole. Miles shrugged. “Something about my parents wanting to live the good old American dream before their unholy son had to turn out to be a fuck up.” He chuckled at the end. Lucien frowned, “You’re not a fuck up.”

“Care to disagree.” Miles dropped his arms from where they rested on the pole above him and moved backwards until his back was flat against the seats behind him and he leaned there for a moment.

 

Lucien didn’t argue anything more than simply restating, “You’re not a fuck up.” and joining him in leaning against the underside of the seats.

Miles didn’t counter him and instead they just stayed quiet for a few minutes. They didn’t even realise that the other wasn’t talking until Miles broke the silence again. “Thanks.” The gratitude came late for the reassurance.

“Still convinced you’re trying to run me out of town.” Lucien joked and nudged him with an elbow. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Miles mumbled the reply under his breath and mainly to himself, but he wasn’t surprised when Lucien heard him.

Just knowing he heard him made the tips of his ears flush red and he didn’t even know why. Probably a stupid fucking school boy crush. “Why do you flirt back?” Miles asked, not able to stop his mouth from spurting out his thoughts. Lucien cocked his head with a humoured expression. “Do you not know how flirting works or something?”

Miles smacked his arm. “Of course I know how flirting works, dumbass.” Lucien rolled his eyes at the uncalled for violence.

“So you know why people flirt back.” He didn’t look at Miles, mainly staring at the complex scenario of bars and poles that made up the bleachers. “Yeah. But me?” Without even being narcissistic, Miles was too good for half of the people he flirted with but now the roles were completely reversed and he was just utterly confused with it all.

“Yeah, you.” He whispered, glancing to him out of the corner of his eyes.

 

Miles read situations pretty well, which is why he could play ahead. But now that the future was inevitably spelled out for him, he didn’t expect it. Probably because Lucien was a guy with better options than Miles.

So, when Lucien’s lips came crashing down on his and grabbed a fistful of Miles’ shirt and pushed him firmly against the bleachers, he almost gasped. On top of that, he started blushing like a fucking virgin.

Miles only got dragged out of wherever his mind proceeded to wander when he realised he hadn’t kissed back. He was fully aware that Lucien was a much better kisser than he’d imagined - not like he had actually imagined it or anything - when he actually cooperated. Miles knew full well that he probably tasted of mint and cigarettes, but no one had complained yet in his life. 

He soon became aware he’d need to breathe soon, but he also became amused with teasing Lucien. 

Lucien’s hand was still wrapped in his shirt, balled up in a fist which he swore pulsated every time Miles ran his tongue over Lucien’s bottom lip. Out of all things, he would be never guessed Lucien to be so damn gentle, and he usually guessed right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Wasn’t that a plot twist.


	8. Sleeping With The Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucien photo in the next chapter!

Miles _might’ve_ walked home with a loopy grin on his face and Fits And The Tantrums playing in his headphones. Once he was home, he noticed the bombardment of texts on his phone. Stiles seemed to be the most vicious contender.

4.17pm

<< Where’d u go?

<< You didn’t die

<< Did you???

<< I WILL file a missing persons report

<< Miles

<< Miles

<< Miles

<< Answer meeeee

Miles chuckled faintly.

4.36pm

>> Not dead

He’d probably sent that specific text a billion different times, all of them to Stiles to reassure him he wasn’t lying somewhere with a gun to his head. It’d become a ritual now.

He glanced briefly at the rest, one from his mom dated hours ago and a few from Lucien.

1.37pm

<< Ewhere are ydou

He wasn’t surprised that his mom forgot that he was still 17 and therefore, still at school. She seemed to forgot literally everything about him recently, except his father.

The other texts were pretty standard, for Lucien anyways. Miles wasn’t sure how other people texted but he was certain that he wasn’t weird enough to have some odd texting style.

4.28pm

<< We should do that again

<< Didn’t come off too strong, did I?

 

4.38pm

>> You’re fine

 

4.39pm

<< Just fine?

 

4.39pm

>> Ahut up

>> Shut*

 

4.40pm

<< As you wish

Almost as soon as he put it down, it beeped again with a text from Lucien.

4.45pm

<< Come over

 

4.46pm

>> Sounds like a booty call

 

4.49pm

<< Might be

 

4.52pm

<< Joking, obviously

 

4.53pm

>> Sure

 

4.54pm

<< You’ll come?

 

4.56pm

>> 13 Union St. 9pm

 

4.58pm

<< Demanding

<< Like it

 

4.59pm

>> Can you keep it in your pants for two seconds?

 

5.01pm

<< Bye, Miles

He snorted quietly and put the phone back down. Great, now he had to shuffle an unfamiliar male into his house. He was basically banned from having guys over since that gave his mom traumatic flashbacks to his dad leaving or something. Except for Stiles. Girls and Stiles were fine in his mom’s books.

Miles groaned and decided to take a nap. He barely ever slept unless it was 2am or another ridiculous time. He laid down and tried to think of nothing since his mind had a brilliant way of springing into action when he needed sleep.

 

Surprisingly, it worked, and Miles only woke up when he heard something smash downstairs. It was a common noise, so he shouldn’t have flinched so violently but he did and he tapped himself on the side of the head. The clock read 8.37 and suddenly the smash was a God send.

He’d fell to sleep in his clothes, so he stripped out of them, added them to the pile at the corner of his room and slipped into his bathroom. The bullet wound had healed significantly and it was almost invisible now except for a little mark it left. That, too, would fade within a few days.

When he was done with a rather quick shower, he changed into an AC/DC shirt and jeans. It was 8.52 now and he wanted more than anything to go back to sleep.

8.53pm

<< Do you want me to knock or

 

8.53pm

>> No

>> My mom will have my head

 

8.54pm

<< Come let me in then

Miles shoved his phone onto his desk next to his computer and quietly tiptoed down the steps. He opened the living room door silently and his mom wasn’t there, but he heard mumbling from the kitchen so he’d have to be careful.

He equally as silently opened the front door and gestured to stay quiet. Lucien slipped in and waited for Miles to go upstairs to follow him. Somehow, neither tripped down the stairs or knocked something over because the murmuring in the kitchen continued while Miles shut and locked his bedroom door behind them.

“Any particular reason you locked that?” Lucien said in a low hum and smirked, gesturing to the door. “Because I don’t want to be lectured about how my ‘sinful’ ways broke our family apart.” He hissed.

 

Miles wasn’t sure how it happened but he ended up pushed against his wall, one hand around his wrist and the other on his chest. He furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head. “You just gunna stand there, or,” He trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

Lucien glared at him and sucked in a breath, something flickering in his eyes. Miles shifted his wrist against the feeling of his grip tightening.

He leaned down and used the hand against Miles’ chest to pull him flush against him and into a kiss. Before, he was so gentle and it caused Miles to practically _groan_ when instead, it was replaced with hunger.

He tasted of expensive aftershave and spearmint.

It could’ve been seconds, minutes or even hours before Lucien pulled back. His body language had changed entirely and Miles could practically _smell_ the sexual frustration radiating from him. He smirked involuntarily at Lucien, who had his eyes scrunched shut a few inches away from his face.

“Don’t freak.” He muttered. Miles frowned in confusion. “Why would I,” He cut himself off.

 

So, on top of Miles being hated by the entire McCall Pack, the majority of Beacon Hills and his own family, he was apparently now trying to fuck the enemy.

Lucien had loosened his grip, both on his wrist and chest, when he opened his eyes again to look at Miles. As a werewolf, Miles knew how hard it was to keep in check when there were prominent emotions of any kind, especially his eyes. Anger, lust, upset, happiness; literally anything severe would cause his eyes to glow. They were probably glowing right in that moment and he just didn’t notice. He wasn’t about to waste his time stopping them though.

Lucien revealed he was having the same problem when his eyes caught Miles’ gaze. Oh, shit.

 

It wasn’t a surprise if he had blue eyes, and Miles wasn’t about to judge since he had them too. But when a set of rose coloured eyes are staring at you from a few centimetres away, and you can _feel_ him breathing, and you can feel his claws laying gently on your shirt, you can’t help but freak out a little.

“Alpha?” He hissed. Miles was still conscious about his mom downstairs, so the tiny argument that followed was practically whispered. Lucien didn’t respond at first, just nodding subtly. Miles just stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously?” Lucien removed his hand from Miles’ wrist, throwing it up in the air. The pressure being removed was comforting but he wasn’t about to say he didn’t miss it. “What was I meant to say? Hey, I’m Lucien. I’m a werewolf, a senior and an alpha.”

Miles just groaned quietly, “Why does everything have to be so complicated?” He ran a hand over his face. Lucien’s features seemed to soften momentarily, but then hardened again when Miles tried to move. He let his hand fall from his chest and Miles slipped away from him and stood at the foot of his bed. “Shit.” He mumbled.

It hit him pretty soon after. He was quick, but he was no Sherlock and he certainly wasn’t Stiles. The _pack_. The scent that mingled oddly with Scott’s - blood and fur.

“That was your beta.” He murmured and now it was Lucien’s turn to look like a lost puppy. “Your fucking beta attacked my best friend.” He spun around as if Lucien had personally offended him. Lucien moved forward a pace and Miles in turn took a step back.

“I didn’t know.” He countered, but Miles just scoffed. “It’s that fucking white haired kid, isn’t it? The prick I scared off in the woods.” Lucien didn’t answer, but Miles didn’t take it as a no - or a yes either.

Lucien had gone pretty submissive - not arguing back anymore, sulking and pouting, trying not to look at Miles for too long as if he were a bomb about to go off. Miles managed to not overreact. “Fuck you.” He took a large stride forward and shoved Lucien back which he apparently wasn’t expecting due to the grunt that he made at the action.

They stayed silent and Miles turned away from him. After a few minutes, Lucien spoke softly. “Don’t tell him.” Miles didn’t look at him or even make any indication that he was listening. He was though. He was listening to him talk, to Lucien’s heartbeat and his own. “Scott. After Stiles, we attacked him. Gave him a little something to remember us by.” Lucien moved until he was behind Miles and placed a hand on his bicep. Miles contained a flinch. “Pretty nasty wound.”

Miles swallowed the lump in his throat and didn’t attempt to move away. “Why not? You killed that girl, right?” Lucien was calm, his heartbeat steady. “She was a beta, loyal to the old alpha. I took over a few years ago and she never liked it. She confronted me and I protected myself.” Miles didn’t respond.

 

“Don’t,” Lucien dipped his head to Miles’ shoulder, “tell,” and placed a careful kiss on his jaw, “him.” He added a soft please to sweeten the deal and Miles half turned to face him. He couldn’t judge him for protecting himself when he’d done much worse.

It wasn’t Lucien who reinitiated the kiss.

 

Miles bit the inside of his cheek when something fell with a loud thump. He reached forward, firmly placing his hand over Lucien’s mouth. He cocked an eyebrow and after a few seconds he removed his hand. He didn’t need his mom coming upstairs and interrupting while he was straddling a half naked guy in his bed. Even if the door was locked. The door stayed locked longer.

 

The last time Miles checked the time, it was 10pm. Now, as he squinted at the clock, it was somewhere closer to 11. His blanket was lazily draped over him and his window let in a slight breeze. He’d probably only been asleep for half an hour. Next to him, Lucien seemed to have actually put some clothes on and was staring at the ceiling. He tugged the blanket over him more and Lucien glanced over to him with a smirk. “Booty calls don’t usually stay the night.” Miles muttered, still half asleep. “Not in my books, anyway.” He rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. “Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” There was noise downstairs, so his mom was active.

Miles hummed something and Lucien pushed himself to stand. Miles sat up. “You’re actually leaving?” He questioned as if he hadn’t just practically told him to. Lucien shrugged. “I’ve got to wake my sister up in the morning, and I need sleep.” Miles frowned. “Window.” He suggested when Lucien glanced at the door. Lucien nodded and approached it, fully opening it with a grunt.

Miles remained sat in the bed, half covered by the blanket and gazing lazily at Lucien when he moved. He shuffled back over to Miles and kneeled at the side of the bed and planted a firm kiss on his forehead until Miles redirected it to his lips. They kissed lazily for a few seconds before Lucien stood up again and slipped to the window. “Goodnight, Miles.” He whispered and before Miles could respond, he had managed to clamber out of the window. He stopped intently listening when he heard him land on the ground.

Most people didn’t take ‘sleeping with the enemy’ seriously.


End file.
